Seven hurled the bag onto the creaky bed of the shabby inn. The same one. The same room. A place that reeked of damp wood, but at least it was a roof over his head.
For now.
Seven days.
That was all the time he had left before the budget ran dry. Or more accurately, before Lythian's money ran out.
After all, earlier at the mercenary hall, they had nothing to show for the quest they accepted which was to hunt three (3) howlers..
'Illusion…'
His mind wandered back to the illusion village and that girl—who probably—was the one who meddled with the quest.
***
In the next room, Lythian exhaled as he tugged his gloves off. His fingers ached, though not from a sudden assassination attempt to test Seven's skill, but frustration.
It bit at him harder than any wound would.
The Seven fangs he had taken from the corpses of the howlers at the Fifth test that Jun, the proctor, slayed were deemed useless as when he handed them to the mercenary reception, the response was:
"These aren't part of the quest."
"What?"
"The request was for white wolves. These are from lesser howlers of the Sixth Continent,"
"That's impossible."
Lythian argued, shoving the parchment onto the counter.
"The quest clearly stated lesser howlers."
The receptionist barely spared him a glance before gesturing at the paper.
"Check again."
Lythian's stomach twisted as he read the words.
❢ Request: Eliminate White Wolves (3) Location: Eastern Forest Reward: 15 Sevtals per confirmed kill.
His hands tightened around the parchment. The wording changed. It was subtle, but it changed.
The frustration in his chest solidified. There was no proof. No evidence that it had ever been different. Even if he argued more, even if he shouted, nothing would change.
"Fuck."
Without another word, he shoved the parchment back and turned on his heel, marching out with Seven trailing behind.
Back to this run-down inn.
Back to square one.
***
'...Illusion.'
Seven repeated the word under his breath as his fingers hovered over the small mirror above the desk. It was still there, untouched, exactly where he had left it back then. A strange comfort, yet also an unsettling reminder.
He frowned as his own reflection stared back at him.
Sharp aristocratic features.
Gray-blue eyes that held a depth he couldn't quite recognize.
Messy blackish-brown hair that never seemed to settle no matter how much he tried to comb it.
It felt foreign. And yet, it didn't.
His gaze hardened as he leaned in closer and studied every detail with an almost obsessive focus, as though staring long enough would reveal an answer hidden beneath the surface.
Attentively.
Carefully.
Creak.
The old bed groaned under his weight as he laid down with a long, drawn-out sigh.
He closed his eyes, trying to let the exhaustion lull him into rest, but after only a minute, his fingers twitched.
His hand reached out again, grasping the mirror once more and the reflection greeted him, unchanged yet ever so different.
Slowly, he lifted his other hand and brushed the hair up, revealing more of his forehead.
"Who am I?"
Again, he watched how brushing up the hair changed his face, and how it made him feel different.
Back then, he was a reader, merely an observer of the story and untouched by its twists and turns. But now? Now, the knowledge he once relied on had begun shifting.
The world wasn't staying static like the pages of a book.
It was moving.
Living.
Breathing.
Changing.
And so was he.
The more he lived each day, the more the line blurred. The more he felt like he was losing himself—Yoon Seojin—and becoming Seven Hart instead.
After all, the habits of the original Seven were creeping in. The way he brushed his hair upwards. The way his hands adjusted his sword belt without thought. The way his posture had stiffened, shoulders squared like a soldier's. The way his instincts whispered things he hadn't learned, but somehow knew.
His grip on the mirror tightened. His reflection wavered as his knuckles turned white.
"Hah…"
A deep breath. He forced himself to inhale, slow and steady, but the pressure in his chest didn't ease.
"Fudge…"
The word slipped from his lips in a hushed whisper, barely audible, yet so significant. It was such a small thing.
A simple word.
But it was his.
It was the only thing he had left of Yoon Seojin. The only habit that followed him up this world.
"Hah…"
He let out another breath, this time softer. His grip on the mirror loosened just slightly.
'Seven Hart…'
'Yoon Seojin…'
Seven let the mirror rest on his chest, the cool glass pressing against the fabric of his shirt.
His heartbeat drummed against it, uneven, as if caught between two rhythms—one familiar and one foreign.
Slowly, his gaze drifted toward the ceiling, its wooden planks old and slightly cracked. He traced the imperfections with his gaze, seeking distraction, but his mind remained tangled in the same questions.
Who was he?
Was he still Yoon Seojin, or had he already been swallowed by Seven Hart?
He clenched his fists. As much as he wanted to live a new life, he couldn't afford to lose himself.
Knock.
A knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts.
"Fucker, you awake?"
Seven hesitated before pushing himself up, the mirror sliding off his chest onto the bed. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
"What?"
The door creaked open slightly, and Lythian peeked in.
"You good?"
"...??"
Lythian scoffed but didn't leave. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"Still not showing up tomorrow?"
Tomorrow was the scheduled sixth test of the Academy entrance exams. The reminder settled heavy on Seven's shoulders.
Step.
He walked back and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat down, and stretched his arms.
"Will do."
Lythian eyed him for a moment longer, then frowned as he looked at Seven's messy appearance as he had not taken a back for the days he was inside the illusion.
"You look like hell."
Seven chuckled dryly.
"Feeling's mutual."
Lythian didn't wait for a response before stepping back into the hall. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Seven alone again.
His stomach twisted not from hunger, but from the weight of everything.
Retake the missed tests and pass to secure a future here.
"Hah…"
Seven picked up the mirror once more, staring at the face that wasn't quite his, then set it down with a loud thud.
He had no choice but to move forward.
Even if he wasn't sure who he was anymore.
***
Back in the academy, the faculty hall was tense.
Cylinth sat at the head of the long, polished table, her chair slightly reclined as she twirled a pen between her fingers.
Across from her, the bound Lycanthrope stood restrained, the glow of the Cuffs of Heaven on its wrists pulsing steadily, ensuring it couldn't shift.
Jun leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but clearly disapproving.
Around the table, the faculty members murmured with some openly scowling until one of them slammed a hand on the table.
"This is insanity! Allowing a Lycanthrope to attend as a student? We should be executing it, not enrolling it!"
Several others nodded in agreement.
"It's too dangerous. It killed applicants, for gods' sake!"
Cylinth tapped the pen against the table.
Once.
Twice.
Then she smiled.
"You're all acting like I asked for opinions."
A chill swept through the room. The murmuring ceased. She leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand.
"Let's get a few things straight. First, I don't care if it's a Lycanthrope. I've seen humans do worse. Second…"
Her gaze sharpened.
"It's alive because I say so."
Right after she said those words, black void instantly covered the faculty, and everyone tensed.
Domain.
The ability only those who reached either the fifth aura gate or mana ring could wield, and Cylinth dei Silverio was a peak fifth ring magician.
A heavy silence fell over the room as the oppressive energy of her magic settled in. Some faculty members instinctively reached for their own magical reserves, only to freeze when they realized just how suffocating her domain was.
A warning.
"This Lycanthrope will be given a chance to live as a student. Under strict surveillance, of course."
Cylinth's voice was even, but the sharpness in her tone left no room for argument.
"I will ensure it remains under control. Any violation, and I will dispose of it personally."
Murmurs broke out, and one of the older instructors, Professor Gael, leaned forward, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the table's edge.
"With all due respect, Acting Headmaster, this creature is a threat. Do you truly believe it can be trusted?"
Cylinth tilted her head.
"Trust? No. I'm just curious about it."
"Curious. Just because of that?!"
"Just because of that."
Her admission sent another ripple through the room, but no one dared challenge her outright. She turned toward the bound Lycanthrope who remained silent.
"This isn't about trust, it's about control. And I assure you, no one in this Academy controls magic better than I do."
She lifted her hand, and just like that, the oppressive force lifted and the darkness receded as if it had never been there.
The faculty members exhaled, some shooting each other uneasy glances.
Jun sighed.
"This is going to backfire."
A professor with graying hair scowled.
"You can't just decide this on a whim, Cylinth. This Academy is not your playground."
She let out a soft chuckle before standing up.
"Discussion over."
No one moved.
She flicked her wrist. Black energy seeped out her body and entered on the Lycanthrope tightened slightly, locking in its heart.
"Welcome to the Academy, Estelle."
Cylinth smiled as she strode out of the hall, leaving the faculty behind that was still simmering in barely contained outrage because of her curiosity.
'Estelle… I gave her a nice name…"
Step.
By the time she reached her office, she kicked the door shut behind her and let out a breath.
The silence was welcome. For a moment, she simply stood there, rubbing her temples before her eyes landed on the wall across the room.
Pinned there, slightly crooked, was an application form.
The name stared back at her, the paper slightly wrinkled at the edges.
She had no idea what to make of that kid yet.
His timing was too convenient. His bloodline was a superior lineage. His attitude was infuriating. And yet…
She sighed and walked over to her chair.
"Seven Hart…"
With a flick of her fingers, her desk drawer slid open. Without looking, she reached in, grabbing a Matsa-a Sevyaki.
Munch.
The familiar taste filled her mouth, but this time, it didn't bring comfort.
Just more questions.